


Stepping Up

by orphan_account



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Angst, Breakups are hard, Character Study, Conrad Has Emotions And Tries To Cope, M/M, Multi, Which is incidentally why i wrote this, but it'll be fine, chapter two is anthea, way too much thinking, who's trying to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Conrad gets a letter from Christopher. While things are going good between Millie, Christopher and Conrad, Christopher wants Conrad's permission to sleep around if he feels like it. Conrad, in his little monogamous heart, tries to deal with that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NO PROOFREAD WE BLUNDER LIKE MEN  
> i wrote this to C O P E with S T U F F  
> and also it's the first time I post on here in years howdy yowdy *blows on dust*

And Conrad had been in such a good mood, too.

He had come home a bit early. That was rare, nowadays, he was always so busy with politics and meddlings between worlds, so he was pretty happy to leave his partner before the sun had even set.

His current home was comfy. It was too big for him, he knew that, and empty. After three years spent chasing a weakness between dimensions, trading tents for one-room-only rentals and then the one-room-only rental for a cramped car, he had wanted something... bigger. With more room to breathe. But then, his lack of furnitures showed.

_I'm always moving,_ he said to guests and people he had to interview, _so there's not much use in buying a sofa, right ?_

He would leave this place too, in a few months. Maybe a few weeks, depending on how his researches would unfold. But meanwhile, he enjoyed the space.

Space to breathe.

Space to live.

Space to heat, space to clean...

He liked that house. It was... practical, when Christopher showed up.

Which, granted, was not too often. And he would complain about the lack of decent chairs. Conrad was happy, nevertheless. Christopher never visited him when he was living in a tent, and Conrad didn't want to invite him at all when he was sharing his living quarters with someone. He'd have to explain, and apologize, and he could not really enjoy Christopher's visit at all.

So, yeah. Conrad liked that house, and he was humming a happy tune returning home that evening.

But then, there was the letter.

Conrad's heart leaped upon seeing it under his door, because he could tell it was from Christopher. He closed the door, and sat down against it.

(Who was going to tell him to take off his shoes, and to get to the reading table -just the table- like a proper gentleman, anyway?)

He tore the letter open with trembling, expectant fingers.

A letter from Christopher.

_Conrad,_ it read, and Conrad was already squirming with happiness at the use of his first name, _my beloved_ , and okay, that was definitely not a squeal that he had let out, _I hope that you find yourself in good fortune._

He eyerolled, hard.

Christopher was soooo pretentious.

As much as it irritated him, Conrad loved that, too.

The rest of the letter, though.

The rest of it.

_My dear, I need to ask. How would you feel if I happened to entertain some ephemeral relationships, outside of us and Millie ?_

Conrad felt his heart drop.

He did not know it was possible to feel one of his organs suddenly giving up, but he just had. And then, he felt his heart, again, too loud, pounding at his ears, and maybe it wasn't just his heart dropping because he was hyperventilating, trying to focus on the trembling letter without being able to see it, everything was way too blurry, and...

And he was having an episode.

He got up like a shot, and... started walking. With his dirty, muddy shoes, all over the entrance, then into the drawing room, walk, walk, walk, try not to feel the warmness rolling down your cheeks and the dryness scratching at your throat.

_Don't wring your hands, you'll mess up the paper._

_Calm down, calm down while you can._

He... he couldn't say he hadn't seen this coming. It was one of the early discussions, back in the days. When Christopher and him had stopped dancing around each other, and finally become a couple, to Millie's neverending relief.

-Oh good, she had said, I just couldn't bear hearing the both of you moping about that special friend with the mixed signals.

-You're not... upset ? Conrad had asked, still not believing his luck.

-Good grief, no. It was getting unbearable. I know Christopher loves me, but I know he loves you, too, and that you love him too. I like you, you like me, we get along. This should work out fine.

And somehow, it had.

Conrad was absolutely amazed at how well it worked out.

As a child, Conrad had never really planned his future. He vaguely thought, like most of his peers, that he'd get a wife, a house and a dog, after many exciting youth adventures. Then he learnt about his bad karma, and he gave up on having a future. But then, he turned out he did have a future, but he had already met Christopher and Millie.

Conrad was not stupid. He knew the yearning he felt to be with Christopher, his annoyance and admiration, his frustration and relief, all of it meant one thing. He also knew that, with how... difficult Christopher could be, it would probably be a short lived and badly-ended relationship, if it ever was.

But with Millie ? They balanced each other out. Younger, when Conrad had been learning at the castle still and not yet thrown in the torments of... whatever feelings he happened to feel, Conrad and Millie had sometimes played Toss the Christopher, which meant dealing with him until they could not, and then sending him to the other one. Older, and now in that triangular relationship, it was still a bit of that. Except Christopher was less insufferable, and everybody had grown up.

So, with Millie, everything was fine. Conrad thought he would be jealous of her, eventually, which had pained him a lot since they were very good friends. The resentment he feared never came. Even when he was best man to their wedding. Conrad was not jealous of Millie then, but he was... he was feeling bitter, still. He did not feel wrong against her, but... But he _was_ jealous. Jealous of the possibility she had, of the life they had.

Christopher and Millie were married. They lived together, and they had children.

Meanwhile, Conrad had been thrown back to his own world, knowing they could visit, knowing he could come over a few days, but never, never to be together like a family. The children didn't even know about him, though he had met them a few times.

Sometimes, it was okay. Conrad was doing his work, his researches. He was having a good time with his partner, and he could make friends. He could come home, and enjoy the silence.

It was fine.

He was not that lonely.

And sometimes, when he stayed over at the castle, always too short a time, always leaving him worn out from the strain of being in a world he did not belong to, he thought he did not even want to live with Christopher and Millie. The castle was... too much. Conrad felt too overwhelmed, too uncomfortable. There was noise all the time, even through the muffling spell, people coming and going, and Conrad felt like he always had to step aside. Not to mention that people just came up to Christopher with important business all day long. Chrestomanci business. The warlocks this, the dragonblood that, unicorn hair trafficking in Serie Eleven, from dawn to dusk.

Conrad was always glad to see Millie, always happy to have some time with Christopher, but... he could not live like this, and he knew it. He spent half of the time there frustrated that Christopher didn't pay more attention to him, with Millie patiently keeping him company and talking about her latest knitting work.

To an extent, Conrad even thought his relationship with Christopher and Millie worked because of that time frustration. He never stayed long enough to get really annoyed at Christopher. Surely, if he stayed longer, they'd end up yelling at each other. And he wasn't jealous of Millie, probably, because he never even considered he could have what she had. One cannot be jealous of something one never let himself want. So they were all always happy to meet...

And then, Conrad felt guiltily relieved to go back to his own life. They too, Conrad was sure, were secretly happy to see him go, so that they could get back to their routine.

So it was fine. Most of the time. Conrad could travel where he wanted, eat what he wanted when he wanted, and while nobody would take care of him when he was sick, he knew his partner would call if he missed more than two appointments.

Some evenings, true, Conrad felt... hollowed out. Like his heart was not where it should be. Like something was calling, just below his hearing, while something else was clutching at him, pulling in the other direction. The house was too big, then, just like the tent had been too small and the shared houses too crowded, and everything was too much and not enough, and Conrad would find himself mindlessly strolling from room to room, squeezing his camera, searching for something, anything, through tears he did not understand. These evenings, Conrad felt like screaming, but he did not know what words to howl. He wanted, he needed something, but he did not understand what, he did not even get how he had gotten to this messy state, opening and closing doors, moving a glass of water there, a couple of note there, yearning, pleading, grinding his teeth through the wave of unspeakable emptiness.

Those evenings, Conrad felt like he could stomach living at the castle.

(He couldn't. He knew it.)

Such were the state of things when Christopher's letter arrived.

And he had been in such a good mood, too.

He knew it would come. Millie, bless her heart, gave her attentions freely, and Christopher never minded. He said that Millie used to be a goddess, and it would probably have been expected of her, had her devouts not planned to kill her before puberty anyway. Christopher wasn't jealous of Millie. As for Conrad, well, Millie was a very good friend. She could do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted, as far as he was concerned. But Christopher had assured him that he had no room to love any other than them. That was very well with Conrad.

Conrad had grown to be a simple man, afterall. He had room to love only one person. He did not have eyes for anyone else. So to hear Christopher tell him that it was very much the same for him, you know, besides Millie, was very reassuring.

Maybe, in his first fantasies, Conrad had not pictured Christopher in a relationship with Millie.

Again, though, it had worked out.

So, Conrad would have been happy to leave it at that...

But now, this.

He managed to get his breathing under control, and skimmed the rest of the letter.

Reassurances that this changed nothing to his feelings toward Conrad.

(Are you sure about that?)

That he did not feel anything even close to what he felt for Conrad and Millie.

(Why do you want to sleep with them, then?)

That, should Conrad say he was not comfortable with the idea, he wouldn't.

(But you asked, so you must want to, right? Won't you be frustrated if I say no? Won't you resent me if I keep you from basking in that fresh new attention? Won't you love me less, if you resent me? Most of the time, when we see each other, we don't even... There is just so little time, so... Won't you realize how useless I am at this, if you see other people? Won't you logically conclude that we're just very good friends? Won't you...)

He was hyperventilating again.

The tears rolling down his cheeks felt enormous.

_I'm being stupid,_ he though, _I know Christopher loves me, he tells me all the time. He's not the type to lie, and he wouldn't bother with me at all if he did not want to. We're not even in the same world. It would be so easy for him not to see me anymore, if he were so inclined, and... and that doesn't help at all._

At that moment, he did not feel like Christopher loved him, actually.

_Sex is not love,_ Conrad tried to tell himself, _It's perfectly well-known, you can love someone and never touch them, and you can sleep with somebody with no feelings attached, and you can love many, many people at once, all in different ways, it doesn't... Christopher loves me, he_ _ **does**_ _._

Conrad felt the tell-tale feeling of his chest caving in. The hollowness was growing, and he was soon going to fall over the no-return edge, the point at which he could not calm down until his eyes were dried out, his nose too runny to breathe, and his throat too hollow to whimper.

He hated those episodes, hated himself for reacting so much, to so little.

He never did that as a child. He did not remember the first time it happened, but... but he knew it had sometimes happened over his studies, or over Christopher, back when he was a ward of the castle.

He knew it had happened over Christopher so. damn. much.

Conrad wiped his face with his sleeve.

A futile attempt.

He needed a tissue, he thought dimly.

God, he was so disgusting.

There was no point trying to write an answer now.

 

Half an hour later, Conrad was not exactly out of tears, but he was feeling a lot duller, and so his breathing and frenetic crying slowed enough for him to think through the fog.

He came out of his bathtub with a slosh.

He had run himself a bath, because crying felt a bit less shitty when you were surrounded in warm water anyway, something he had discovered early.

Wrapped in a bathrobe, he carefully dried his hair, not to put water everywhere.

_You have to pay attention. Wouldn't want to have extra cleaning to do. Plus, it's bad for the floor._

Thinking mundane, normal things, things that did not involve Christopher's interest for him waning, Conrad puttered toward the all-purpose table where he had left the letter before his emotions completely overcame him.

He read it again.

Though his heartbeat rose again, and the trembling of his finger made a forceful return, Conrad felt too dim to go into another meltdown. His eyes were hurting from the salt and the rubbing. That was good. He could focus on that.

_He's expecting an answer,_ he thought, from too far away.

What could he even say ?

No ? Absolutely not ? Just rip my heart out and do it over my dead body, why don't you, save us all the pain and trouble ?

_Way to be dramatic, Grant._

Conrad sat down. Heavily.

It was just... It was just sex. It was fine. Christopher still loved him.

Conrad had told Christopher about the weird emotional breakdowns he sometimes went through. Christopher never remembered anything that was not crucial to him, but he had remembered that. Conrad knew the efforts he made around his naturally dry manners, the care and cushioning he wrapped around his personnality when he felt Conrad's paper heart might feel some tearing at what he was about to say. That letter, too, was overflowing with unnecessary add-ons, leimotivs of how Christopher loved and cared for him, all of them pointing to the pains Christopher went through to cushion his question. He knew it would hurt Conrad. But, apparently, he had to ask anyway. So it was probably important to him, too.

Conrad slowly leafed around his all-purpose table to find some clean letter paper. He found some under a crumbly plate, and he laid it before him, needlessly flattening it with his hand, over and over.

Some of Conrad's pain came from his lack of understanding.

_He_ did not want this kind of rapport with _anyone_ but Christopher.

And he'd had several chances, too ! And Christopher had told him he would be fine with it, and that, while sharing Conrad would pain him, he knew it came from selfishness, and that, really, Conrad finding somebody else (like, for example, a proper woman to marry) while of course still loving him, would be best for everyone.

Since. Anyway. Conrad could never really properly be a traditionnal couple with Christopher, and that Christopher was married anyway, it would probably be best and feasible for Conrad to also find a likable wife, whom he'd love, and who'd be okay with Christopher.

That way, Christopher had said, he'd also be reassured that Conrad was always taken care of.

Conrad had laughed and said he wasn't wired that way.

He had not asked if that meant he was too much work to deal with for Christopher alone.

So, when some nice lady had started pawing at him in a mute but clear question, Conrad had been alone in saying thank you but no thank you. He felt a bit bad at leading another woman on, but he never even considered saying anything else. There was only Christopher to him.

To everyone in his world, he was a bachelor. A handsome and eligible one at that. Conrad found himself saying no often.

It was so natural to him, that he did not, he could not understand how Christopher would even ask, would even want...

And that was just the core of the issue, wasn't it ?

His insecurity.

Always.

He did not hear the voice of his uncle telling him he was a wicked, wicked being in his past life, but he still felt that it was right that he should suffer, and that, of course, somebody like Christopher wouldn't really bother with him, not really, not for long. He was so grateful for every day he got to spend with the knowledge (though not the conviction) that Christopher loved him, and he was always dreading that it would be the last.

He still felt like he was living on borrowed time.

Feeling this way, it was no wonder Christopher's question had sent him reeling.

Christopher was not like him.

Conrad knew it, but it was always hard to get hit with the reality of it.

Where Conrad loved, and then wanted, Christopher could want and love completely independently. It was, in a way, a quality, which probably saved him a great deal of the frustrations Conrad himself went through.

But, because Christopher was so well-adjusted in his affections and desires, he did not understand how straining the matter was to Conrad.

And Conrad did not want to say no to Christopher. He did not want him to be frustrated, to hold back, to feel like he had to restrain himself for somebody who wasn't even there, who wouldn't even give him what the other had to offer.

Really, Conrad wanted Christopher... not to want.

He sighed.

Nobody could ask for that. Christopher himself, for all his magic and Chrestomanci shenanigans, could not grant that one wish.

Conrad lowered his pen on his paper.

_My dear Christopher,_ he started, feeling empty, on autopilot.

Then, his pen stopped, and he stared at the page again.

To be honest with himself, as much as Conrad tortured himself, there was never any doubt as to what he'd write.

_That's fine,_ he wrote, because it was easier to be hurt than risking frustrating Christopher.

_I understand,_ he lied, because he wanted Christopher to love him.

_And I trust you,_ he said, because it was true.

It was painful to write. It was painful to imagine what could happen, after he virtually just gave Christopher his blessing to go on his merry way and revel in the green awe of somebody else. But Conrad... was used to this. This feeling of uselessness, of emptiness, of lack of prospects. It was an old friend. He met it first when he was eight, after all.

-Maybe I do have a terrible karma afterall, he croaked to the empty house.

There was no one to answer him. Maybe there never would be.

-It's my fault, anyway, he said again.

His voice was rolling out of its croaked state, clearing itself through the weak sentences

-I should have just loved somebody else. Anybody else.

Anybody who wasn't stupidly tall and dark, infuriatingly smart and smug, anybody who wasn't that vain peacock of a man with his stupid beautiful robes and overworked hair.

Like there was ever any chance of that happening.

Conrad sighed.

He felt bad, but he also felt better.

It was fine.

He could deal with this, with the pain and the jealousy, the frustration, the anger, the loneliness, and everything else. He had dealt with them for years, and he probably would have a lot more years of them coming.

It was fine.

Conrad's heart tore like paper, but it mashed itself back together all the time.

_I expect,_ he wrote, _a lot of love and attention next time we meet. I hope you're ready to pamper me, Chant._

 


	2. And Breaking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Conrad's efforts in last chapter to come to terms with what Christopher wants and needs, their relationship ended. So he goes to Anthea.

Anthea could not remember the last time her brother had visited her. Was it right after he came back to his own world ? Was it when he first took office at the magic regulation and researching organization he worked at ? She really couldn't tell. Dimly, she thought it was the kind of things her mother would have forgotten about, too, and she was afraid to turn out as distant and distracted as she had.

She _did_ know, however, that Conrad hadn't looked so sickly tired.

He had barely said a word since she had let him in and guided him to the kitchen for some tea and biscuits. He didn't need to, really. Anthea knew what was up from the message he had sent beforehand.

_It's over with Christopher. Can I talk to you ? Please._

It was the shortest letter Conrad had ever sent to her, and somehow, it told her more than the longest ever had.

She looked at him over her teacup.

His dark hair was curling sullenly at his forehead. His cheeks were pale, almost yellowish, but there were no dark circle under his eyes. Somehow, he still looked like he hadn't slept for weeks. Maybe that was due to the red splotches in his eyes. Or maybe his soul was too crushed to hold his body together properly, and it showed.

Anthea didn't ask anything.

To an external eye, that would look like patience and consideration.

But really, Anthea did not know what to say.

She was Conrad's big sister. She was happily married, had been for years. She should know about these things, she should know what to say to her heartbroken little brother, he had come for her help and advice, but she... she did not know what to say. She wasn't sure she ever did.

Conrad was staring into his teacup, a worn-out and sad man Anthea wasn't sure she knew anymore, and she was trying to remember how she used to talk to him.

She was not really sure she ever did talk to him, even before she left home, even before she left _him_ to be raised by their distant mother and abusive uncle.

She had been completely surprised to find him a servant at the castle, after all. And then, he had left to be taught in that other world, for years, and... And Anthea was never that worried.

_I failed him all his life, and he still asks for my help._

And there she was. About to fail him again, because she did not know what to say.

Conrad opened his mouth, then, cutting her line of thoughts.

"He... He said it was for me."

His voice had the slightest tremor. Like the first breeze of a storm about to raise an ocean.

Still, Anthea did not say anything.

Conrad put his cup down. His hand was shaking. He clutched it with the other one. And started wringing.

"He... he said... He said he could see I wasn't... I wasn't happy with this. And... And he said... It'd be better, for me, to... to stop. Be...Bec... Because..."

His voice cracked, and Anthea thought he would start crying. But his eyes, feverishly bright, stayed mostly dry.

"Because he'd just. Keep hurting me. And feel bad about it. And he said... We didn't deserve that, so it was best... Because... He said he loved me... still... and didn't want to keep... hurting me."

He seemed to be trying to break his own fingers in his distress. Anthea wanted to stop him, but she felt like, if she moved, he'd stop speaking.

Conrad was now throwing anguished looks to everything in the kitchen, the keetle, the window, the ugly clock Anthea's husband had bought one day, the spiderweb she could never reach and tear away, anything and everything who wasn't Anthea herself.

"And I... I thought... I thought, that's funny !"

He had a short-lived bitter laugh.

"You don't... you don't want to hurt me, so you're... So you're breaking up ? That's your logical conclusion ? He didn't... He didn't even discuss it with me. He just wrote to me, that's over, it's done. Because... Because I guess dating me was... not worth it ? I... the problem was, he wanted to sleep around. And... I didn't want him to, but i still said yes, because ! You compromise, when you're in a relationship, right ?"

He looked at Anthea in the eye for the first time since he arrived.

"That's what people who love each other do, right ? You take some of the burden on you, sometimes you have to clench your teeth to make it work, right ?"

He looked away again.

Anthea was so still, she feared her blood wasn't pumping anymore.

"So I did. I said yes, you can do it. I thought... That's what it takes. But still, Chris- He could tell I wasn't actually okay with it, and. And he wanted me to be."

Again, the short-lived bitter laugh.

"The nerve of it ! He wanted me to be okay with it ! Like... I don't know... Like he wanted my blessing to be free to do whatever he wanted, and have not guilt, no consequences over it. And, I told him, you're free. You can do it. But... But I could not be okay with it, still, you understand, Anthea, so if he chose to... use his freedom, I'd still be upset. I could not help it, so... So why fake it, right ? Plus, he asked. I wouldn't have told him, really, how upset it made me, but he asked, because he's a prat like that and he wanted reassurance that _yes, of course Christopher, you're not doing wrong, you've never done anything wrong in your whole sodding life, you're a perfect angel whom I love very much and you nothing you ever do could ever possibly hurt me, Christopher !"_

He had raised his voice on the last bit. He blushed, realizing it.

"I'm... sorry."

"It's fine." Anthea said.

"I should not... I didn't mean to yell."

"You can yell if you need to. I know what it means."

Conrad shot her a look so grateful, Anthea felt _herself_ tearing up at the obvious trust Conrad still put into her, when she had done nothing to deserve it.

"Please go on." she said, willing her voice into steadiness.

Conrad looked down on his half-finished biscuit. His left hand grabbed his spoon, and he used it to crush away a piece of the biscuit.

"So... so he broke up. It... It was apparently easier to break up with me than..."

He trembled, and crushed the biscuit some more. It was not agressive. Anthea could tell he just needed to keep his hands busy. His jaw was clutched, thought, and Anthea could tell Conrad was working hard at keeping his voice at indoor level.

"Than not _shagging around."_

The bite in his words was almost undecipherable. Was he angry ? Frustrated ? Jealous ? Tired ? Anthea could not tell.

Conrad dropped his spoon with a clang, and sighed.

"But there was... There was no point in arguing. I mean, what if I did ? What if I beg, you know ? Please don't do this, and let's not, and I don't want to break up, this kind of things ? It's too late, I already know I'm too much effort for him, I already know he'd rather break up, so i'd never feel secure with him again."

His gaze was kind of glassy now.

"Not that I ever did."

Anthea felt something akin to a punch in the gut, as she understood, slowly, how hurt Conrad was, how much he trusted her to hear it, but also how mature he was being about this.

She had thought she'd welcome her brother to cry into her arms, like he did when he was five with a scrapped knee, and that she'd have to whisper soft words of reassurance in his ear as she pet his hair, but there he was, a grown-up, the scars of his upbringing showing at every corner of his words but still standing, and somehow, processing everything on his own.

A selfish mother. A selfish uncle. A selfish lover. And a selfish sister, who left him to grow up alone and with nobody supporting him at all, and yet, Conrad turned out to be one of the sweetest man, who, through his pain, was showing his true resiliency.

_How was it, growing up like he did?_ Anthea wondered. _He didn't have that many friends, that I can remember. And Uncle Alfred was always telling him he was such a bad person before, though he could not help it now, and I... How much time did he spend, thinking things by himself, to get to this level of self-awareness ? How miraculous it is, that he turned as good as he did ?_

Even now, Anthea was making it about her.

She did not know how to avoid it. But she'd do her best for it not to show.

"You... never did ?" She asked, finally, because Conrad seemed to be lost in his own silence.

He blinked, twice, and shaked shadows off his face.

"No, I... I knew it couldn't last. Not really. I just... I just hoped it would... last more. I. I don't know. Maybe if I had been more confident..."

Anthea thought she knew what he meant.

_Maybe if I had been more confident, and let myself enjoy it without being insecure, it would have lasted longer. Maybe I'm nothing but a walking self-fulfilling prophecy._

It took a few seconds for Anthea to realize Conrad had actually said that out loud.

She was, again, taken aback at how... articulate Conrad was about his feelings.

_Who is that man,_ she thought, _who taught him that ? It's not me. It's not anybody in our rotten family._

"Well, I can ask myself that, but it doesn't change anything. It's done. It's over. I just... I just have to live with it, you know ? It's... sad, and painful, and... I cried about it already. Somehow, I feel like I'd need to cry some more, but I can't. I don't know. It's somewhat stuck. So I have to live with that, too."

Conrad was being ten kinds of amazing, and Athea could not even tell him.

She nervously sipped at her tea.

_What do I say to him ? He's in such pain, but he... he's already working it out. He doesn't need me, really. What can I say to him ? What can I do ?_

Conrad fingered his cup a bit, and kept going.

_Please, no more, let me do something to help first,_ Anthea thought, but Conrad was relentless.

"In a way, I'm... I'm actually relieved."

He sighed, and rubbed his face.

"I mean, it hurts so much, but... but it's over. I'm giving up. I don't have to bend and twist myself emotionnaly over him anymore. I'm just... I'm just letting go of everything. And that's... that's such a relief ! You have no idea how... How draining it was. I, myself, had no idea how draining it was, until it stopped, and the first wave of emotions about that was over. I don't even miss him as much as I feared I would. Because... He was never really there, you know ?"

"I... see," Anthea lied weakly.

Conrad nodded, like that maked sense.

"I know you do."

Anthea felt like such a fraud.

In the resulting silence, she poured herself another cup. She'd probably have to excuse herself soon, if she kept going like that.

She was trying to think up a good and appropriate advice, when Conrad opened his mouth again.

_Lord, there's more._

"I knew... I knew it wouldn't work, I told you. I was so worried about when it would end, and how, that now that it's over, I think... I think maybe, I was grieving the relationship before it even started. See... See, it started with me denying my affection to Christopher. And then, I was angry at everything and everyone, because I loved him and I... I could not have him. And after that, I did have him ! But through so much compromising and work and half-satisfaction, really, it was bargaining. Now he broke up, and I felt really depressed about it. So, maybe, really, I'm already accepting that we... wouldn't have each other."

Conrad knew about the five stages of grief.

Anthea did not think he would.

"I... I want children." he said quietly.

And _then_ , Anthea's heart broke.

"Oh, sweetie." she said, because she suddenly understood.

This time, when Conrad looked at her again, there were tears in his eyes.

"I... I want a family," he said again," I want a little house and... and a dog, and somebody to come home to. And he... He could never give me that. He could not, and he would not like even like it ! He... He can give that to Millie, because there is that fancy big castle and all those people fawning over him, but I... I want quiet. And the country, and the sea, maybe. I want..."

His leg was shaking under the table, making Anthea's tea quiver in her pink flowery cup.

"I want to raise children, and I want them to sometimes call me a stubborn old man when I'm being too old-fashioned but still love me lots and come back often to visit me. I want to grow old with somebody who'll still want to slow dance dumbly in our living room, someone to take romantic horse ride with (Christopher _hates_ horses, you know), I want... I want a little house, with a dark room for my photos, and to plant flowers with somebody who doesn't mind mud on their shoes. And I... And I want to bake together, and..."

Conrad looked half-surprised, half-anguished, as he listed off what he had wanted all along. Like he had kept himself from voicing him to himself, all this time, and was surprised to discover this part of him. Anthea watched him like a hawk, fascinated.

"I want to travel and come back, and be with someone. Someone who is... simpler. Someone who's nice. I don't... I don't want challenge anymore, I don't want fancy, I don't want glamorous, I just... I just want..."

He gestured vaguely.

Anthea did rise, then, and walked around the table. Conrad mimicked her, absentedly.

She hugged him tight, and did not say anything when she felt wetness on her shoulder.

"I... I knew he never would... But I hoped... I wanted it to be him. But I always knew... I always knew it wasn't, he wasn't, and I knew I was lying to myself, but I... I could not... stop..."

His voice was cracking.

Despite herself, Anthea was crying too.

Her baby brother.

He deserved the world.

She would not fail him ever again.

They stayed like that for a while. Until Conrad pushed her away, to wipe his face on his sleeve. Anthea sighed, but finally felt useful, as she produced a tissue from her own pocket.

"Thanks." Conrad muttered through his teary and snotty face.

He blowed his nose, and Anthea kept watching him.

"You... You know, I feel like, there is something even worse."

"There _is_  ?"

Maybe she should go to Chrestomanci Castle herself, and slap Christopher in the face. She did not know what he looked like now, but she was sure she could recognize him from that superior expression he already had when he worked with Conrad.

Conrad nodded.

"He... He keeps writing."

"He _what_  ?"

Oh, she would. She would slap him accross the face.

"I told him... To leave me alone for a while. You know. That's what you do, right ? And I don't... I don't want to talk to him, anymore. So I told him... To shut up and go. That, maybe one day... But. But _he keeps writing_ , Anthea. To tell me... what he's doing, ask if I'm well, tell me to be careful about such and such gang he heard about, this kind of things, like... Like we're still friends and nothing happened. Like..."

He made a move to sit down again, but Anthea did not follow his example.

"Like he misses my attention, or something. You know it almost looks like... Like he wants the relationship with me, you know, letters all the time like we used to, but without... Without any constraints. It feels like he thought..."

He straightened up and raised his nose in his best snobby imitation of Christopher.

_"Oh, well goodness me, I can give up the physical side of this relationship, to get all the other ones I see fit, so let's break up. Conrad is such a good boy, he'll give me his friendship like before, this way I have him, and the rest, and I don't have one single consequence of anything coming ! I am so very clever !"_

"I can punch him for you." Anthea offered.

Conrad laughed.

This time, it wasn't bitter at all. Anthea felt herself relax somewhat.

"That won't be necessary. I don't actually think he thought that... but he's acting like he did. And I'm not... I'm not angry. I know how he is."

He tried to scoop some of the crushed biscuit into his spoon. He had to use his finger to manage it.

"I still... I still love him. But I... I don't want him in my life anymore, I think."

Anthea finally sat down again.

"I... I think I'm done."

"You deserve so much better." Anthea said.

It did not sound as hollow as it would have earlier. She had finally found the heat to answer Conrad, to be there with him.

"I... I know. Actually. I do know, now."

_He improved so much_ , Anthea thought, and she loved him. She still felt guilty that she had no part in his improvement, in how he was slowly overcoming his toxic upbringing, but mostly, she was feeling a wave of affection and admiration for her brother, the kind of appreciation she'd be ashamed to say she had never felt for him before.

"I do want better, now. And... And I don't even think... I don't even think I need to deserve it. I just... I just want it. I want a nice love, now. Something... Kind, and soft, and sweet, and just good enough. It doesn't... It doesn't have to be special. I don't like special, now."

Anthea understood. She nodded.

"What you have is nice." Conrad said again.

"Yeah, it is." Anthea said.

She was happily married, and while there was the occasional argument, she could see, from Conrad's experience, how lucky she was, even if she sometimes forgot it.

"Thank you," Conrad whispered. "You helped so much."

"I... did ?"

Conrad looked at her, and his tired face somehow warmed up under the love he was directing at her.

"You're a great listener." he said.

Again, Anthea felt guilty that she had spent half of Conrad's speech wondering about where _she_ came in.

"I'll do my best to keep helping you, then." she said.

"As I will. I'm sorry I never... helped you much, before."

_Lord in heaven_. Conrad was so... so brightly _kind_. She wanted to slap everybody who ever did him wrong, including herself.

"Well, when I really needed help, you were a child. It was not your place to help me. And... I did find people and friends to help me, later. It was never on you. I'm the big sister. I should have been the one helping _you_."

Conrad thoughtfully nodded.

"You were always doing so much at the house, I only understood how hard it must have been on you when I had to replace you. I still think... even big sisters need help, sometimes."

Anthea was choking on unnamed emotions, now.

Maybe... Maybe their upbringing hadn't just been terrible on Conrad.

"I am so glad you're my brother." she blurted out.

Conrad smiled, a bright, happy smile, finally.

"I am so glad you're my sister, too."

 


End file.
